What is it about birthdays that really let you know how far you’ve come, and how far you have yet to go. They didn’t used to be like that, but just like clockwork, each year becomnes a referrendum on the last.They used to be the happiest day of you’re whole fuckin life. Friends. Water-guns. Cake. Presents. Crying hysterically because one of your water-guns broke. Kites in trees. More presents. What the hell could be better than that?
Right around twenty two birthdays began to lose their shine. Suddenly I didn’t want that many people to know that I’d attained an age beyond my output, that life’s tortoise had slowly walked by me as I hit on all kinds of forest ladies, and took many naps.
Now with each year I wonder if I’ll finally attain the glory that last year promised. I wonder if this year I’ll unlock the combination I’ve been looking for, rocketing my life to the status and wealth I dream about. Like Vegas wealth. Or, much like how it’s been so far, will it be another year of quaint-lessons and small leaps towards occasional bounds. I hope it’s a little of both frankly. I do think I’m getting smarter, or rather, less naïve, and with that has to come some payback, some crust of an affirmation that this plan, while unplanned, is correct.
Who knows. 26 was an interesting year, faceless. It reminds me of twenty two. Twenty seven seems more official, maybe if only because it’s one closer to thirty, and one farther from twenty-five. I’ve always enjoyed getting older, and If I’ve learned from the many lessons I manage to get myself learnin’, I think I’ll enjoy being wiser also.
And now here's a video of a kid fainting at a spelling bee, who then gets right up and spells the word correctly. That kid's name? America.
